


Another Kind Of Love

by JustSimpleThings



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Consensual Infidelity, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Negotiations, Prostitution, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sex Toys, Sloppy Seconds, Spanking, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 09:51:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2344103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustSimpleThings/pseuds/JustSimpleThings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are in a D/s relationship. Due to their mismatched libidos, John lets Sherlock prostitute himself to his heart’s content, but he goes too far one night. John finds out and lectures him.</p><p>Title taken from Leonard Cohen’s beautiful song: I’m Your Man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Kind Of Love

**Author's Note:**

> A million thank you's go out to my amazing beta readers: Danielle Henry, Olivia, enya, I <3 Reid & the-turducken-affairs. This work would never have been published if it wasn't for all your help and support.

The way they got into BDSM was unexpected to say the least.

Sherlock and John were not looking for anything. They were not looking to change their dynamics as a couple. It sort of just happened.

Sherlock had been completely wound up one day, throwing a fit and breaking objects as usual when John had suddenly shouted at him.

‘Enough! Put that thing down and stay quiet!’ John winced at his own voice. His military training had kicked in at the sight of devastation when he entered the scene and he had shouted what came to his mind first. To both their amazement, Sherlock had obliged. His chest was still heaving, but he stood still, blessedly quiet, and his eyes were fixed on John. It was as if Sherlock was looking at him for further guidance. John swallowed and gave into the urge to issue another command.

‘Good. Very good. Now slide to your knees. Do not sit.’

A few minutes later he was giving Sherlock the first proper spanking of his life. Sherlock was completely strung out and sated by the end. His breathing turned even in a matter of minutes and he fell asleep in John’s lap on the sofa.

After the event they had settled into a routine and eventually discussed the terms of their relationship as sub and dom.

However, it quickly became evident that their respecting libidos were quite ill-matched. Sherlock yearned for sexual contact in almost every encounter, whereas John was satisfied with one round of shagging or blowjob every couple of days (sometimes even weeks). The solution came from John, surprisingly.

Prostitution. A useful way of satisfying Sherlock’s sexual urges. Completely voluntary and permitted by John; Sherlock could go out and get as many or as few clients as he wanted, when he wanted, provided it was in a safe environment, with proper caution. John knew that Sherlock would not enjoy sleeping around without a purpose. This way, he could feel useful as well as completely supported by his dom in satisfying his desires.

The tons of money they suddenly had was an added bonus.

Sherlock was sceptical in the beginning, but the arrangement had worked. Everything went amazingly well… until tonight. Sherlock had finally made a mistake, a rather stupid one, because he had been greedy and he let his slutty side get the better of him. He wasn’t going to admit his mistake. That was out of the question. He could never cope with it if he saw disappointment or worse, rejection in John’s eyes. So he had to keep quiet about it. He was a consulting detective, it would be a piece of cake. Or at least that was what he thought.

‘John, I’m home!’ Sherlock bellowed as soon as he closed the door behind himself. Come to think of it now, Mrs. Hudson has probably heard it anyway, the old lady was up by five am most days. Sherlock looked at the clock on the wall; half past five. A bit later than he would have guessed, but then again after consuming three beers (bought on his own money) and 3 shots of whatever-was-cheapest (paid by his clients) some discrepancy was to be expected.

He felt weary, but mostly pleasant. A bit sore if he had to admit, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He found all the sane ones tonight, god bless.

John came out of the bedroom (their bedroom) looking only slightly pissed. He has never been a fan of staying-up late, this was just one aspect Sherlock loved about him: John was completely, perfectly ordinary and decent in just about every sense of the word. The perfect citizen. And yet here he was, hopping out of bed at the crack of dawn to greet his slightly tipsy and decidedly weary whore-of-a boyfriend. (Boyfriend. Sherlock hated to admit it, but yes, he used that word. If it gave him a thrill every time, which he blamed on his fucked-up adolescence because he had never had a chance to call anyone that.)

But back to John, he was adorably sleepy, though his forehead started to crease with concern as he approached Sherlock.

‘Is everything all right?’

‘Yes, yes. Would you mind making me some tea? I don’t feel like going to sleep yet, got a research report to finish for my website. Oh, and by the way, I made seven hundred quid. Cash.’

John’s eyed widened.

‘Seven hundred quid just tonight? Not bad. How many blokes this time?’

‘Five. Two of them very marginally interesting, three had bought me drinks, and one paid for the cab ride home. Nothing unusual, three fucks, two blowjobs. Do the math. So actually I made a little over 760 pounds, I think.’ Sherlock said all in one breath, trying to appear nonchalant. If John had looked concerned a moment earlier, now he was downright anxious, with a hint of wariness in his posture.

‘Sherlock, you are clearly withholding something. What is it? God, tell me you didn’t shoot up with one of them in a back alley!’

There was so much contempt, but also concern in John’s voice that Sherlock couldn’t bear it any longer. Making John worried has always been his resolve; maybe because he was practically incapable of that emotion, or maybe because it made him feel warm and fuzzy inside, aside from the guiltiness. It was as if John had laid a blanket on him, a nice, soft blanket, which he clearly did not deserve.

‘Maybe I did something, which we did not discuss when we laid down the rules for our arrangement.’ Sherlock said just as quickly as he said his excuses before, but now he wasn’t looking into John’s eyes. It was foolish, the lack of eye-contact implied lying. Sherlock wasn’t lying. He was just not telling all the details. Yet.

John knew this. Sherlock saw his posture go rigid, and if he looked up he could have seen his lips press tightly together.

‘Continue.’ He said, dangerously softly.

Sherlock looked up and immediately regretted his decision, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from John’s stricken expression. He stuttered something out, at least:

‘I… I didn’t know what to do. You said I can take any male client I want, for the agreed fees of each sexual act; no discounts. I did not break any of these rules, but I did take two clients tonight, simultaneously. They paid up front, the normal rates I always ask. You never said if I can do that. I’m sorry I assumed…’

‘You are not sorry.’ John cut him off with his quick remark. ‘You wouldn’t have taken the risk if it wasn’t important in some way. I have yet to find out why…’

Sherlock still felt rooted to the ground. John was eyeing him up and down and suddenly, he felt naked (was this how ordinary human beings felt around him himself?). He found himself thinking back to the two men involuntarily. The way they had eyed him up, looked at him with pure lust… Sherlock felt himself beginning to harden again at the memory and his face grew hotter.

John’s pupils widened at the sight.

‘Oh, yes. That clears up the reason. Take your clothes off and get on the bed. Hands and knees.’

Sherlock hesitated for a second. John stepped closer to him and yanked him by his hair, dragging him to the bedroom. He was practically thrown onto their bed, for which he was distinctly grateful. It helped get him out of his contemplative stupor and into sub mode.

Which is why he found himself uttering his most frustrating, agonising thoughts, even while his hands never stopped in their task of shedding his scanty clothing.

‘I didn’t let them put their cocks up my arse at the same time. I did not… You never mentioned it… Slight chance of permanent damage, I wasn’t stretched enough and they weren’t exactly patient… I didn’t…’

John grabbed him by the hand when he was naked and pushed him into the correct position somewhat harshly but with great care.

‘You knew I did not give you permission for that. Smart tart. Show me that well-used arsehole of yours.’

Sherlock obeyed and pulled his own arse cheeks apart, exposing his wet, soft-looking hole. It looked pliant and fuckable – Sherlock knew how it must look, he had examined himself often enough in mirrors in bouts of curiosity. He started to harden at the thought, his cock twitching in anticipation at the implication of his nakedness. Sherlock loved that John could make him feel like a wanton slut, simply by staying clothed and uninterested (Sherlock could tell by looking at John’s crotch that he was completely flaccid underneath his trunks). It was only Sherlock who was such a horrible, insatiable, needy creature. A true slut.

John patted his flank and Sherlock shuddered and arched into him, everything for the comfort of that touch, to know that he was still wanted. Loved. Owned.

John finally spoke up again.

‘You did not break any rules. You certainly stretched the boundaries of our arrangement, but that was due to it not being detailed enough; I can live with that. What I am a bit disappointed about is the fact that you haven’t disclosed this fantasy of yours so far. I can see how strung-out you looked when you thought about it. You clearly want to try being double-penetrated in your arse, yet you haven’t told me so. Why is that?’

Sherlock stayed still. Every calm word was like a small pulse of electricity, running through his nervous system, shutting down his brain completely. He tried to convey his thoughts, but found it damn near impossible to speak.

‘I… I was afraid… you would not approve.’

So simple. Sherlock cringed inside, he sounded needy and insecure even to himself. How could John love and respect him when he was so insecure? Pathetic. He endangered their arrangement by withholding vital information and his best excuse is that he was afraid. Bravo, Sherlock! Classic hazarding of trust.

Just when he was about to break down and cry, struggling to hold his position, which was beginning to put a strain on his neck and shoulders, John guided Sherlock’s hands back on the bed, very carefully. He caressed Sherlock’s shoulders and his arse, which had small half-moon indentations in the place where his own nails were. John smoothed over the pale, unblemished skin. Sherlock couldn’t see, but he could hear the smile on John’s face.

‘Silly. I like all of you, there is nothing you could say that I would not accept. Sherlock, look at me’ – he took Sherlock’s chin in his hand and looked him deeply in his eyes. – ‘I want to own every part of you. So no more secrets from now on, okay? Whenever you have doubts, voice them. Tell me about your desires. I want to know, so I can be calm in the knowledge that you are safe and won’t do anything foolish. I would never deny you any of your needs; I thought that much was clear.  
I am not punishing you for taking on two clients, but for not disclosing the fact that you wanted to do so sooner. I think twenty slaps will be adequate. By hand.’

Sherlock relaxed a bit immediately. Spanking, yes, he could live with that. He loved the way John’s sure, strong palm felt when it connected with his behind. Despite his sleepiness, he found himself anticipating it, that shock of the first sharp impact.

Instead, he felt something decidedly large poking at his hole. Before he could think about it further, the object had slid in, with very little resistance. Suddenly he felt unbearably full, he had been stretched so it wasn’t painful, but he could tell, that it was a quite large dildo. He surmised that it was the purple one he owned, which was almost ten inches long with according girth. Then realisation dawned on him, and he gripped the sheets, steeling himself, trying to brace himself in the uncomfortable position. He was still on his knees and elbows, but he didn’t dare move and John didn’t say anything, so he clearly expected –

_Slap!_

Sherlock very nearly fell forward. Pain and heat flooded his arse simultaneously, quickly followed by the next and next wave of painful pleasure. Around the fifth one, it was starting to feel good, satisfying, just the heat and the thrill, making his head void of any unnecessary worry or thought. The next slap hit the dildo’s base right in the middle and Sherlock gasped loudly – it hurt and it felt good and he didn’t know how much longer he could stand this. He felt like he was floating, suspended in a sea of sensations. John laid every slap with precision, distributing them evenly all over Sherlock’s rear, so it glowed in a fierce shade of red by the end. Sherlock sagged with relief when it was over, although he would not have minded if it went on forever.

‘Very good, sub. I feel like rewarding you, so I’m going to make you come, provided you keep the position you are in. No shifting at all. I don’t want to hear any sounds either.’

Sherlock had to choke back a keen. He felt like he was going to shudder apart as John crouched next to him and started to stroke the places where his blows had rained, caressing Sherlock’s abused skin, then grabbing his flesh and exposing where the dildo was still lodged in him. He started to tease Sherlock’s sensitive rim with his fingers, stretched taut around the large object. Sherlock felt the bed shift and John was leaning over him, like an animal in mating position, but instead of taking the dildo out, he just began to nudge it in a slow rhythm with his fingers, while he reached his other hand around to stroke Sherlock’s straining erection. It has been hard to keep silent at the beginning but now it was becoming damn near impossible. Sherlock writhed; he had to focus all his mental capacity on keeping his movements to a weak but continuous trembling instead of the movements he yearned to make. John’s hands felt wonderful, he wanted to thrust, and rock back into the intrusion, fuck his fist, more, harder…

And then he felt it. Suddenly all the air has rushed out of his lungs and he felt as if the world was ending, slowly, but surely, because John has pushed in a finger next to the dildo, a wet, lube-slick finger which felt perfect, almost too much, but not quite. The hand on his cock sped up and Sherlock opened his mouth in a silent shout as he felt himself shoved – no, hauled towards his completion and John chose that moment to lean in and whisper in his ear.

‘I want you to come, now. Do it, Sherlock!’ With the last word, he somehow managed to thrust another finger inside and started to slide them against the dildo, still fucking him. Sherlock felt as if he was on fire, the sharp pain of the second finger just what he needed. His orgasm took him by surprise and shook him violently. He started to trash, straining up onto those sure fingers and the hand still stripping his cock, as it milked each and every drop of his essence. When it was over, he collapsed onto the bed in an exhausted, boneless mess of limbs. John did not try to detangle himself, instead he snuggled closer, burrowed into Sherlock’s limp form and placed kisses on his sweaty temple and damp locks.

‘Now listen carefully, because this bit is important.’ John said softly when Sherlock’s heavy breathing had evened out somewhat. Sherlock was dangerously close to falling asleep now but he still knew that the words John were muttering were clearly those of approval. He managed a light nod and John continued.

‘You did nothing wrong tonight, but you could have. I don’t want you to do anything foolish, anything that could put you in unnecessary danger or cause you distress or harm. So you _will be_ open about your desires with me. This is not optional. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Sherlock said, nodding clearly. Everything was becoming soft around the edges just as John enveloped him in a warm hug and held him close. They laid on the bed side-by-side and John draped a blanket over them. The detective winced as the large dildo was eased out of him, with infinite care. Sherlock was falling asleep just as he heard John mutter good-naturedly.

‘Stupid idiot. My crazy, gorgeous idiot.’

John thought he was an idiot for being so insecure. John cherished him regardless.

Sherlock felt a warm feeling spread out in his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed the ride! :)


End file.
